Bodyguard Lockdown - By Donna Young Page 0,43
to the fire,” Booker whispered, his breath warm and moist against her ear.
When she shivered, he tightened his hold. His teeth nibbled her ear. Goose bumps tripped down her spine and settled at the base. She nestled into the crook of his arm.
“Go back to sleep. We need to get some rest while we can.” He slid his arms under her. Slowly he pulled her on top of his chest, let her legs tangle with his.
“Rest?”
Sandra kissed his chest, settled her head just over his heart, finding the steady beat reassuring, the tickle of hair against her cheek soothing.
“How far are we from the cylinders, Doc?”
She’d known the question was coming, expected it. Sad that their moment had been so brief. “I’m not quite sure. Maybe a half day’s ride up the ravine.”
“You’re not sure?”
She could’ve just stalled, waited until he was distracted, but suddenly Sandra was tired of all the secrets. The walls that still remained steadfast between them.
“I have to check my map, Booker,” she said quietly.
“What map?” His muscles stiffened into granite planes, leaving her skin cold, her heart aching.
“The one I made five years ago. It shows the location of the cylinders.” She shifted back, needing some space, readying herself for the rejection.
Slowly, he rolled her back onto the ground, then looked down on her.
“It was an insurance policy in case something happened to me. I know his men were loyal and hadn’t been rounded up after he’d been sent to Leavenworth. Especially Colonel Rayo. He’s Trygg’s right-hand man—”
“I know who Rayo is, damn it.”
Sandra saw it then, what she missed. The cold anger in the blue eyes. A familiar sadness swept through her chest, making it tight, leaving her heart aching. Nothing had changed. Would change.
“Where is this map?” Booker demanded. “In your medical pack, right?”
“In the lining,” she admitted, but didn’t flinch when his fingers tightened on her shoulder. Instead she tossed him the bag. Watched him rip it open. “That’s why I never left it behind. I couldn’t risk trying to remember. If I had forgotten...”
Booker stared at the information on the cloth. He let out a sting of curses.
Her chin came up, defiant. “I did what I needed to do, Booker. And I don’t regret it.”
“When were you going to let me know?”
“Now,” she snapped. “Or did you miss the confession a minute ago?”
Before he could answer she added, “You have no right to be angry, damn it. How much have you kept from me, McKnight?”
Booker forced himself to let her go. He grabbed his clothes and tugged them on. The dampness did little to cool the heat of his anger.
“I have every right,” Booker bit out. “I wanted you safe.”
“I told you before. I’m safest with you.”
“No, you’re not!” His tone was low, the words terse. “I followed you here, Doc. Four years ago! I didn’t do that because I was told to, or because I was concerned, or even because I was madly in love with you. I followed you four years ago because I knew that Trygg would eventually escape from prison. He had too many contacts, too much backing behind him not to. I studied his profile, damn it. I knew.”
“You followed me because of Trygg?” She stood, feeling too vulnerable sitting on the ground naked. With quick, jerky movements, she grabbed her clothes off the boulder, tugged them on over her bra and panties.
“Once he escaped, who do you think he’d come after?”
“Me,” she admitted. “So all of this...” She pointed her finger back and forth between them, not able to finish. Not when his face hardened, his gaze swept over her semi-naked
state.
“You were my bait, Doc. Nothing more.”
She’d paid a high price for what she’d done, what she’d risked for CIRCADIAN. Her family. Booker. Love.
But this? Her knees buckled. Only sheer willpower and pride kept her upright.
She zipped up her pants, pulled her shirt over her head.
He’d used her.
He’d slept with her. And used her.
Sandra widened her stance to keep her feet under her, the mortification at bay.
Her fingers shook, but she forced herself to ignore them and slipped on her caftan.
“Be ready in five minutes.” The command was sharp, his features set in granite.
He had no right to be angry. He’d used her.
Bait for Trygg.
Then why was she still standing here, damn it? The thought ricocheted from the back of her mind.
More than once they had faced Trygg’s men. Each time he could have used her by informing Trygg’s men he’d negotiate. But he didn’t.